Friday 6th April 2001

Garry: "It was a mystery to the rest of the passengers in the car, but somehow Garry had managed to get Martin ready to depart Amersham on time." Sara: "Everyone was to meet at Sara's at 2pm, but Sara herself was grappling with the traffic on the way home from work, so she didn't arrive at her house until 2.15. However, super-efficient as always (it says here), she was able to change, make rolls for everyone and get everyone out the door by half past two!"

"Cheap wine, err... highly demanding Octopush tournament, here we come!"

Garry: "14:30 hrs came and with military efficiency the journey to Paris began. Two hours to Dover on a Friday came as a bit of a surprise, (Sara: "Maybe to Garry, but not to the passengers, given that we were party to an assault on the land-speed record! However, it was still impressive when you consider it was Friday afternoon, foggy and raining") but we all boarded the ferry "Cezanne" for the 1 1/2 hour bumpy and rolling crossing to Calais.

Well, not before Garry had inhaled a suitably fat-boy meal at the dockside just to aid the on-board liquid refreshment."

In his own words: "Garry's so dense he can bend light"

"Zap!" Or "The Emperor's New Fencing Tournament..."

Garry: "There was the standard array of passengers on board from the bloody students off skiing again, to the ever-hypnotised kids staring aimlessly over the side looking like they were either going to throw up, jump or just be aided by their ever-helpful colleagues to a cold and watery grave. For a change there was a distinct lack of screaming babies to make the gentle pitching and rolling last its usual eternity. Fortunately, I had solitaire to while away the time, Colin had his trusty Tom Clancy novel, Sara her exam marking and where would Martin be without his ever unreliable laptop - too bad he didn't bring any DVDs to watch."

Garry: "Well, as soon as the port is reached, it will be a British cavalry charge to Cergy and hopefully a nice comfy bed with a luscious French (or maybe Dutch) maiden there to help us unwind from the troubles of the day. Well, I can but dream... Porcine Airways welcomes you to Flight 1 to Fantasyland. The flight is indefinitely delayed as PIGS DON'T FLY. More from Laa Laa Land later. Your trusty narrator, Checkers."

Sara: "Now how can I follow that? Well, while we were on the ferry, Jim Randall rang Martin with the sole opening words "4.29". Huh? "That's the time (tomorrow morning) that we get on the Eurostar!" This was excellent news, with which we were most impressed, as when we rang him at 3pm he had been still at work, and wasn't sure he was going to be able to go at all!

Well Garry "followed that" by driving (no, "flying" is more like it) from Calais with "Weird Al" Yankovic's assassinations of famous songs keeping us highly amused, and also helping to keep Sara's mind off the speed at which the landscape was moving past us in the rain! Though I think what was more alarming was that Garry knew ALL the words to the wacky songs... (Garry: "Well I do own the bloody things . . .") and was singing along madly whilst wagging his head from side to side!!!! I can imagine Mr Yankovic doing a Thin Lizzy rendition "There's a Garry on the Loooose..."!!!!!

Garry: "What? Like a moose who has been let out of the hooose. The trip was quite eventful really doing the 180 miles to Cergy in XXXX minutes. The best had to be the cloudburst with the ensuing zero visibility."

Sara: "No, no, no, the best has to be the Blues Brothers, which we sang all the way into Cergy!"

Garry: "Well, if you consider yours truly managing to sing all of the solos from the band: yes, at the right pitch as well, with no need for any nad-squeezing."

Sara: "So as we have effectively done home to Pontoise in four hours, we let ourselves in to the motel and then hit Cergy for a very nice meal in the only place that appeared to be open! It was interesting trying to order garlic bread when we didn't know the French word for garlic!!!! Needless to say, we didn't succeed!!

And so to bed....."

Jimm: " 'Jimm's trip down' was memorable only in that my hosts/tour guides/kidnappers thought it most hospitable to give me a tour of every single exit on the 'motorway' as we reached Breda using the trial and error approach. Thank the powers that be that Holland is a small country: another couple of dozen exits and we'd have missed the tourny altogether!

At Breda, rides and riders were rearranged according to some plan that was valid until the next gas stop at which more rearranging took place. In the end, Hendrik and I were stranded at the gas station - and he owned one of the cars!

Somehow it all worked out, though the last three miles provided a disproportionate share of thrills and misery. We gave new meaning to the needle and haystack analogy in finding the Formula One hotel by simply trying every parking lot in the Paris suburbs; but - safely arrived - the Dutch boys proceeded out to the nearest local establishment and by closing time had consumed all the wine (yes - the bar ran out!!) and broke all the hearts in metro Paris, so with tears in our eyes (no more to drink) and in theirs (the local girls watching their Dutch men bid adieu), we managed a few hours of sleep before the first game: in our case, four of the first five games . . ."